Pheline of the Opera
by Soprano of the Labyrinth
Summary: After an unfortunate mix-up, Erik has unintentionally transformed himself into a cat. Can he win back the still unwed Christine , and continue to haunt the Opera in his new form?  Taken from the Story started by Maxniss Everide.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note and a disclamer!**

This story was orignaly started by Maxniss Everide (.net/u/2419611/ ) but she has stopped writing it, and I have taken over from where she left off. Chapters one and two are written by her. Chapter three on are written by me, Soprano of the Labyrinth.

_**Erik's POV**_

Oh this is despicable, utterly embarrassing!

How can I even assume that anyone would take me in after all that happened, after all that I have done to them? How could I even think that I can just come crawling back to Christine after all that I have done to her? Why oh why cruel fate has this happened to me? Of all the tricks that I have ever done, _this _one had to backfire on me.

It was quite a simple trick actually. All I had tried to do was turn Raoul de Chagny into a macaw. Yes, a macaw, to show how foppish he truly is since those birds have the most extravagant colors. I had invited him for dinner and put the poison in his food. It was not my fault; that is for certain. The foolish de Chagny had to distract me by playing with my Punjab lasso. He was tossing it around and examining it, pulling it around the mannequin when I was setting the table. I had to finally approach him and take the thing away from him, since he obviously did not know that he could damage one of my possessions with it. Of course I had to threaten him to give it back, saying, "Monsieur de Chagny, I assure you that if you do not hand me what is mine, you will soon find yourself wearing it while hanging from the ceiling."

It did the trick. Immediately, he threw the lasso to me and I caught it one-handed, hardly even moving from where I stood. However, I did have to move when I noticed that he had scratched the mannequin while he was playing with the Punjab. I took my cloak and rubbed the spot with it, hissing at the Vicomte when he came near. He would never touch her again, ever.

It was only after we sat down and finished the meal that I realized that I sat in the spot that he was supposed to sit in. If he had not distracted me, it never would have happened! I silently cursed under my breathe and forced the de Chagny boy to leave my presence (in which I actually am proud to say that he did not suspect a thing and that he seemed utterly confused and afraid by my commanding him to leave). Once he left, I swiftly hurried to where I kept the poison and found the wine bottle in which the powder for it was kept. The bottle was empty now since I had poured all of it into the Vicomte's food, which I had accidently eaten. It wasn't the bird poison, though, it was-

I felt my body being dragged in a thousand different directions before I could read the label. Oh the pain was indescribable but it was over soon enough. My clothes lay on the floor beside me and I fell into a deep sleep.

Hours later, I woke from this slumber and tried to lift myself from the ground. I yawned and stretched, not quite remembering what had become of me. Surely, all of it had been a dream. Why would I invite the de Chagny over to my domain for dinner? How would I be such a fool as to actually consume my own poison…?

I opened my eyes, and to my horror, I found not hands stretched before me, but claws. They weren't a falcon's or an eagle's talons, but they were simpler than that. I walked on all fours and my rough tongue could feel sharp teeth in my mouth. Attempting to stay calm, I rushed to a table and glanced up at it. Without thinking, I leapt onto it and studied myself in the mirror.

My suspicions were confirmed. I had short pointed ears and narrowed yellow eyes. Black fur covered my whole body, for my natural hair color was black. I had the shortest whiskers that I had ever seen on any beast and I curled my long black tail around me as I sat. Naturally, I still appeared to be only skin and bones. I was quite a remarkable thing, though it was not doubt utterly annoying. I had transformed myself into a cat.

I glared at my reflection irritably when I stared into my cat face. To my dismay, this one thing could not have changed. Matted fur covered my face along with scars and lost fur to go with it. My mouth was misshapen on one side and even as an animal, I had no nose. Red flesh could be seen under my right eye. Silently I cursed. Even as a cat, I could not escape my deformity, though as a human, it was much worse than this.

"Now look what you've done to yourself, Erik", I chided myself. Somewhat surprised that I could still speak French as a cat, I leapt back in surprise. I even tried a few other languages, such as German and Persian. I was only a cat in form only, not in mind.

Sighing, I reached with one of my cat paws to the button to one of my trapdoors. As long as I was the size of a cat, it would be the perfect chance to search the little nooks that I could never explore as a human.

The only problem was that I couldn't reach the button. I jumped higher; the button was too high. Curse my cat paws! I needed someone else to open the trap door. Momentarily, I wondered when the potion would wear off. I remembered never making a remedy for this, believing there never to be a need to, since it wouldn't last forever. I shook my head knowing that it would wear off in its own good time and that all I needed to worry about was how to still run my opera while in cat form.

Then it hit me. It was the worst possible idea to ever come into my mind, but at that moment, I realized that I needed outside help- literally.

What of the trap doors? I couldn't escape my lair through those! Another means of escape needed to be taken. With cat poise, I leaped from the table onto the chair beside it and from there to the floor. My eyes narrowed into slits as I considered my options.

Obviously, there was the lake, which seemed so ominous to me now that I was in smaller form.

"It is merely nothing, Erik", I reassured myself, but as I neared, my anxiety grew. Reaching into the water with my paw, I shuddered back, splashing droplets off of my paw back into the water.

"Erik cannot swim in such a huge lake, what was he thinking? MEOW!"

Breathing heavily on the other side of my lair, I stared wide-eyed at the monstrosity that I considered overcoming. At that moment, I realized that many cat attributes were becoming me. I had to fight the beast within.

I crawled back further into the corner until I heard the creak of a board beneath my foot. I jumped at the noise, but glanced back to find what I had been searching for- a passageway.

Relieved, I crawled through the cat-sized tunnel, grateful that I hadn't repaired this hole earlier. Rats kept infiltrating my lair so many times before this way that I had needed to block it. Apparently, they had gnawed through the wood that was supposed to temporarily keep them out.

Stopping in my tracks, I realized that rats could overcome me at any moment. However, I needed to keep on going, so I didn't stop.

Scuttling came from behind me, and my steps quickened. The sooner I got out of those rat-infested passages, the easier my situation would become. A few rats appear behind me, biting at my feet.

Suddenly, I'm stopped by a rat with its ears almost torn to shreds, its tail mangled and beaten by years of hardship.

_So the strange creature who tried to block our passageway finally decided to come to our level._

How was I able to understand this rodent? It said nothing, yet it said everything by its movements and noises.

I stand tall and glare at it. It glares back

_Do you dare challenge me, monster? Get out of our domain and go back to where you came from!_

I try to answer it, but I find that I cannot speak rat. All I can speak are the human languages that I have learned throughout my lifetime. I know nothing of animals.

Catching the rodent off-guard, I swipe my paw at it, tossing it aside to the edge of the passage. I leap over it and run hard on all four paws searching for some opening to escape the rats.

I hear a melody pure and sweet wafer into the passageways, entrancing me for a moment, almost causing me to slow down.

"_Daylight_

_Say that you are the sunflower_

_And a rose that is fading_

_Roses wither away_

_Like the sunflower_

_I yearn to turn my face to the dawn_

_I am waiting_

_For the day"_

Christine, it was my angel for certain. Only her voice could sound so perfect, so angelic. I remembered that piece from somewhere… it was by a composer that I have come to despise, but coming from her, it sounded so sweet. I rushed towards the sound.

_Come back here, creature of the dark. You do not belong here, _the rat threatened me. It was beside me, but I swiftly knocked it out of my way.

_You know nothing of the dark, much less of love, _I growled at it, surprising myself. Did I just speak in some feline language to a rat? I needed to be around people before I was completely transformed.

Unfortunately, the music was gone, therefore leaving me no trail to find my love. I closed my eyes momentarily. I knew the opera house by heart, so why couldn't I find my way to the stage?

A light burst through a crack and I could hear Firmin's voice praise the new prima donna, "Magnificent, Christine! You have the lead!"

"Bravo!" Andre shouted.

The crack was much too small for me to fit into. The rats still stalked me, still foolish enough to believe that I was still their prey. I screeched at them, sending them to shriek in terror. Many of them ran away, though still a few lingered beside me.

Could they be my temporary minions? I've never had minions before.

_Open this crack, _I commanded them. They stood there, not doing anything I asked. _I've seen you do this a thousand times before, you little beasts! Do it now or I'll claw your eyes out!_

Suddenly, the little creatures began scraping at the mortar widening the crack. They opened it much quicker than I would have been able to. When they were almost finished, I pushed my way through them and squeezed through the hole. When I was through, I looked back and stared into the little scrunched up faces. The rats were ugly, but somehow, I saw myself reflected through them. I gave them a look of gratitude and they scurried off.

I turned toward the stage, but my Christine was not there. For a moment, I panicked. Where had she gone? Then I saw the two fool managers that ran my opera.

"No notes tonight", Andre whispered to Firmin gleefully as they packed shuffled out of my theater.

Firmin answered gruffly, "Humph, Andre, you'll catch his attention and he _will _write us a note. I'd rather we wait until we've left to discuss our luck."

Now if I weren't in cat form I'm sure that I would have written them a note right then. I was planning to write about what my theater's next opera should be, but since my unfortunate accident, I was not able to do so. Actually, I had forgotten completely about it at the sound of Christine's voice, but since these two had reminded me, I resolved to scare them a bit.

"_The Phantom sees, the Phantom knows…."_

Andre almost jumped into Firmin's arms. I stifled a laugh at the scene.

"_Did you not think that I could hear what both of you speak about me?" _I once again threw my voice in their direction.

"P-p-please," Firmin stuttered. "We didn't know that"-

"_Silence!" _I shouted. Then, I thought that perhaps I could have them help me find Christine. _"I may forgive you after all. Where is Mademoiselle Daae?"_

"She went home", Firmin answered.

"_Ahhh, I see. Forgive me my dear managers, but who did she leave with?"_

"The Raoul de Chagny."

"_Of course, thank you, dear sirs. I assume that my salary will be due in a few days… hmm?"_

Andre cleared his throat, "Oh, uh, yes sir… We were just about to pay it."

However, I had a moment to consider this. What would be the point in having them pay me something that I would not be able to receive? I knew that as long as I remained in that cat form, I would not be able to receive it.

"_Don't bother with it this month. You haven't done anything to anger me this month, so you will be rewarded. Don't expect this often." _I knew that it seemed so out of character for me, but it was all I could do to catch up to my Christine.

They nodded. Firmin spotted me. He shouted at me, though he didn't realize who he was shouting at. "Andre, get the broom! Shoo, you vermin!"

Before I could reason with the situation, I scrambled away from them, meowing with fright. _They are going to hurt poor Erik! _I thought in cowardice. _The very managers that he had under his thumb are going to hurt him!_

Finding an opening, I leaped into the bitter cold of the night. My black fur hardly kept me warm and I began shivering. I looked back and saw the lights slowly dim in the opera house. Turning my head, I saw before me were a few street lamps burning. Christine's house was only a matter of blocks away.

I remembered her tender care for animals. When she was younger, she had once owned a cat. It had been a crippled little thing. Her father was about to turn it away, but she was determined to nurse it back to health. Once she did, she had given it to a friend of hers who had desperately wanted a cat.

Perhaps she could do the same for me, except, of course, giving me away.

With that, I stepped away from the Garnier. The light there was dimming, but Christine's lamplight kept burning.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N;**

Once again I repeat, this story was started by Maxniss Everide, and chapter one and two are written by her.

This now leaves me with my current situation, except, this is much worse than just being a cat. Oh no, this is much more demeaning than being a nose less cat.

After a few hours of wandering through the streets, I finally came across Christine's apartment. It was a small, humble abode, yet it was beautiful to a starving little creature such as myself.

Now I had a few options: I could have sneaked into the apartment unseen or I could try to get Christine to let me in. The first option would have only proved to be worthless, since I wouldn't be able to support myself well as a cat. Yes, I could have learned to hunt for mice and could have drank sewer water, but even though I was a cat in form, I was (and am) still a gentleman by nature.

That only left me with the second option. The only problem was how to get Christine to let an accursed little beast inside her only place of sanctuary. Though she did have a soft spot for animals, there was no way she would let me in. She had screamed at my face when I was a man, I would look much more repulsive as a cute little adorable – nose less cat.

I sat there in the road for a while, just staring at the apartment for a while. What could cats do that catch human's attention?

I paced up and down the road, trying to think of how to get into Christine's apartment. In truth, it should not be that hard to get into her home, but something just did not seem right about this whole thing.

Of course, there was nothing right with me being a cat.

I sighed and made my way towards the apartment.

I sat looking at the doorstep and stared the doors. Then I did the first thing that came to mind.

I died.

I stood on my hind legs and put a paw to my chest as I yowled in pain. Dramatically, I crashed to the ground and cried again. After a few minutes, I heard footsteps rush to the door and I stuck out my tongue before I heard the click of the door.

"Oh!" I heard an unfamiliar voice cry. Who was this? It definitely was not my Christine.

I felt a foot nudge my small crumpled body before I heard the woman scowl, "Nasty vermin should not be on my doorstep."

Before I could do anything, I felt her foot again, only this time I opened my eyes to find that I was soaring through the air. I looked back and saw a woman in her late forties wearing a look of shock on her face. As I fell to the side of the road, I gave her a wicked smile and winked. Quickly, she rushed back to the door and shut it behind her.

Slowly, I stood on my feet again. I almost collapsed to the ground once more when I felt a spasm of pain throughout my back leg. However, I knew that Christine would take care of me if I got in her house. She would never even know it was me so she would care for my back leg.

I limped to the apartment again. I realized that Christine obviously was not the only resident here. Her Mama Valerius had passed away the sometime ago so I had assumed that meant that Christine would be living on her own. Yet that did not seem to be the case.

I found a pipe that lead to the second floor of the apartment. I gave another wicked smile as the answer seemed to be staring me in the face. I leaped and grabbed onto the pipe for dear life. My leg seemed to protest, but I ignored it. I would be well once I was reunited with my love.

Slowly, I climbed up the pipe until I reached the first window of the second floor. I looked into the window to see the same woman who kicked me to the side of the road. I flattened myself against the wall next to the window when I saw that she was walking towards the window. My breath stopped when the steps ceased at the window. A moment of silence ensued. Suddenly, the glass pane swung out and hit me in the head. I felt so dizzy afterward that I lost my balance and found myself falling to the ground.

My eyes had momentarily closed as I fell. The rush of air almost felt comforting to me.

That was until I landed in a rose bush.


	3. Chapter 3

Lying in the bed of roses –the irony was not lost on me, when had my life ever been a bed of roses?– I looked up, and my newly enhanced night vision beheld, well, a vision.

It was Christine at the window, and now I really new what that English playwright had meant all those century's ago. It was the east, and she was the sun.

Despite the visual poetry before me, I was in more than some slight discomfort; a bed of roses might sound nice, but roses have thorns! And my leg was still aching from my encounter with that witch at the door. I couldn't help but mew pitifully in pain. The cat thing was starting to take over.

The noise caused her to look down, and her hand flew to her mouth. Well, it seemed I was going to get inside after all.

A moment later she was kneeling by me.

"Poor thing!" Gently she lifted me, and held me nestled in her arms, making cooing and shushing sounds. I had dreamed of being in Christine's arms, but not like this!

Looking over her shoulder, she pulled a shawl around me, and ran back into the house. I managed to push some of the cloth from my face with a paw as we headed up the stairs.

"Christine!"

She froze. It was that damned battle-axe!

"Yes?" replied by dear Christine.

"What where you doing out side, in your night dress?"

"I was, brushing my hair at the window, and I dropped the brush into the garden. I just went to fetch it."

Not a bad story, not to inventive, and delivered with confidence. Has she always been such a good liar? The cat-hater from below seemed to buy it.

"Get into bed this instant! You are should be asleep at this time of the night."

'Who was this woman?' I wondered as Christine hurried into her apartment.

I'd never been inside before. I was small, but nice. Two rooms, a bedroom, and a sitting room, with a folding door between them. There were books, bit of music, some ornament, and, what appealed to me most, a nice warm fire place –must be the cat thing. She set me down, and I limped towards it.

"Oh, you're hurt!"

_I just feel from your window, after being kicked by what I'm hoping is your landlady, 'cause I really hope she's not an aunt!_

I managed to say it under my voice, and in cat, but only just.

She knelt down next to me, and began pulling at my legs. I hissed, this was no way to handle and opera ghost, nor an angel of music!

"Shh! Or she'll hear you!"

I metaphorically bit my lip –I would have done it physically, but my new mouth did not allow it – and kept quite.

"It's hurt but not broken. Poor thing."

She picked me put again, and this time, sat down with me on her bed, stroking me. On her bed! In her room! Her wearing only her nightdress, and me technically naked! Things were getting out of hand very fast.

She didn't seem too put off by my face, and lack of noise. She kept murmuring 'poor thing' and the like, as she played with my ears.

"What am I going to call you?"

My eyes pricked up at this. Not Fluffy, or Sooty, please!

"I'd call you Puss, but then I'd need to get you boots!" She giggled. It was a pleasant sound. I didn't hear much laughter in my life, at least, not the nice kind.

"Well, I found you in the roses, so…"

I began to panic, praying she wouldn't call me after a flower!

"So, you'll be my Rosen Cavalier*! I'll call you Rozen!"

Rozen, I could lived with that. If it became shortened to 'Rosy' we might have problems.

*Strauss Opera, Der Rosen Kavalier


	4. Chapter 4

A/N; sorry for the delay, just a short up chapter, and also a reminder that the first two chapters are not mine, they are Maxniss Everide's, but chapter 3 and now four are mine. Now, let's get on with the show!

Christine was still holding me as she slipped into bed.

She settled her self back agents the pillows, and me on her lap, still stroking me, as she reached over to the bed side table to retrieve a small volume bound in green leather. It looked like a book of poetry.

Oh, I had imagined scenes like this, when I dreamed of what life would be like with Christine; the warm fire crackling softly in the back ground, my head resting agents my darling's knee, as she read to me.

I had not however, foreseen the fur and tail.

I was still trying to get used to the tail. It seemed to move of it's own accord, without my control. I would have to master it. I wondered if I could use it to pick up small items, such as say, a pen? The state of my handwriting had oft been commented on *, how much worse would my tail writing be?

Christine's hand had stopped stroking me. I gave a stretch and turned my head to see what she was reading that could make her forget her new pet 'Rozen'?

Byron.

Byron! Christine was reading the work of the infamous Lord Byron! Simple, innocent Christine? I'd assumed of the English romantics, she'd be more inclined to Keats, possible some Shelly, but Byron, the rake of Europe, who modeled himself after one of his own anti-heroes? I was myself, well acquainted with the poet's work, I could recite large sections of his Don Juan –it had been a useful source for the libretto of my own opera- but I had would not have thought that Christine…

Her eyes glistened, and her lips moved as she read, and reread.

"When we two parted,

In silence and tears,

Half broken hearted,

To sever for years."**

She whispered the poem to her self, her eyes shining mostly as she did so.

"Pale grew thy cheek and cold,

Colder thy kiss;

Truly that hour foretold

The sorrow to this."

I knew the poem, and was surprised to hear Christine reading it, over, and over, as if ever word came from her heart.

"the dew of the morning

Sunk chill on my brow,

It felt like a warning

Of what I feel now.

Thy vows are all broken,

And light is thy fame;

I hear thy name spoken,

And share in thy shame."

There was a sudden knock on the door, and both Christine and I nearly jumped out of our skins.

Unceremoniously, a blanket was through over me, and I stifled an urge to hiss as I heard the door open. It was that witch of a landlady.

"Still not asleep?" Inquired the female.

"No, not just yet." My angel replied.

"You really should rest, after all you've been through, but some how, I knew you won't be a bed yet. Young women today, staying up all hours of the night reading, ruining their eyes and singeing their hair by candlelight." The old matron rattled on about the danger of this new craze for education and enlightenment.

"Here, I've brought you some warm milk, sweetened with a bit of lavender sugar, to help you get to sleep."

"Thank you, Madam."

I heard the floor creek as she made her way across the room, and the chink of a glass being set down, then more creeks as she retreated. Then a pause.

"Oh, I saw the dandy fellow hanging around after you came in," I pricked up my ears. The fop. "I gave him a piece of my mind and made sure he cleared off." I might get to like this old woman. "It's not right, pestering a young lady like that." I was really starting to warm to her.

"Goodnight."

"Sleep well."

After she was certain that we were alone, and not likely to be disturbed, Christine whisked the blanket off me.

"Sorry, Rozen, she's really lovely, but she has a thing about cats."

And fops, I added to myself.

Christine rose off the bed, and I followed suit. She picked up the glass, and gave it a sniff, pulling a face. I recalled Christine's rather peculiar habit of only drinking milk if it was near ice cold.

She found as small bowl, and transferred the contents of the glass into it, before setting it down. I padded over, and began to lap at it.

I, unlike Christine, loved milk, in almost any form. I drank happily, enjoying the subtle lavender flavor.

Christine got back into bed, and I finished my milk, feeling slightly embarrassed but still content. I did not rejoin her on the bed. I was still a gentle man, if a cat, I would find my own place to sleep. I settled for a corner near the fire, near enough that I could still see the out line of Christine, but far enough that should the poison wear off in the night, I could escape undisturbed.

Before she sunk completely into sleep, I heard her whisper the last verse of the poem.

"In secret we met–

In silence I grieve,

That my heart could forget,

Thy spirit deceive.

If I should meet thee,

After long years,

How should I greet thee?

In silence, and tears."

I wondered the meaning of this, as I too lay down to sleep. How many times had she read that poem? What did she think of as she read it, that made her tears shine with unshed tears? Was it possible, that she thought of me?

*see Lerox.

**Lord Byron, 'When we two parted' verse 1, 2, and 4.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N; No reviews yet. how saddening, I do like getting feed back, but I know people are reading, so that makes me feel better. As stated before, this story was started by Maxniss Everide (first two chapters), but continued from chapter 3 on by me.

R&R if you can, it'll make me smile, and update faster.

The unaccustomed sensation of light tickling my eyes first caused me to awaken.

Questions began pouring into my mind. Where was I? Why was I on the floor? Why was everything so BIG? And why did I have paws!

Then I remembered. The dinner with that inbred aristocrat, my unfortunate transformation, the escape from the rats, that cat hating land lady, and of course, my rescue by Christine.

Christine was still asleep, one arm through up and over her face to block out the light that was steeling through the window. She looked so angelic as she slept.

Right, while she was still dreaming, I would try to see if I could master this tale.

I stood up and stretched. It felt delicious. God cat's can stretch!

I padded my way through to the other room. There was a desk, perfect. One leap, and I was on it. Paper, pens, and a bottle of ink. Just what I needed. Unfortunately, the ink was black, not read, but it would do.

I tried to wrap my tale about the nearest pen.

No luck.

"Well, if at first you don't succeed…" I tried again.

Not happening.

"Once more…"

This time I got my tale under the pen, but only manage to cause it to role off the table. It clattered to the floor. I whipped my head around, terrified that the noise might have woken Christine. It hadn't. I shouldn't have worried, she had after all, once managed to sleep through me playing the organ!

I jumped from the desk, and pounced on the pen.

"Right, mouth it is."

I got my teeth around the shaft, and swished my head back and forth. This should work.

Pen in mouth, I once again regained my place on the desk. Now just to dip it in the ink and… A lid. The ink pot had a lid. I spat out the pen in disgust. It was a screw top lid too! Who was I going to deal with this?

I hocked one paw around the pot, and pulled it towards me, and placed the other on the lid, trying to dig in my claws. I must had looked ridicules, hugging the glass jar, desperately trying to prize open the lid.

In the end, I resorted to my teeth. Success! I had concurred my enemy!

Compared to a assembling the tools, the actual writing was far easier.

I made a few hesitant strokes of the pen, getting the feel for it, before I began to practice. I made wobbly, but still legible 'O.G'. Then I tried a word. 'Music'. It looked like a spider had crawled across the paper. I tried again. 'Angel'. Better, but not by much. I'd once seen a medium who clamed to do 'automatic writing', and I had to say, that there was a definite resemblance between her sprit scrawl, and my cat scratch.

One of the problems was, I have the pen across my mouth to have any sort of control over it. This mint I had to write with my head on one side, and couldn't actually see what it was I was writing!

I heard movement from the bed room. I flipped the paper over, and slipped back to my place by the fire, quite as a ghost.

Christine was sitting on the bed, needing her eyes with the palm of her hands, as if trying to rub away dreams.

She caught sight of me, and smiled.

"Morning Rozen."

I made a noise back in reply.

She stood, and stretched. The sun light from the window lit her from behind, and she look like she had just been plucked out of a Titan painting. I had to turn away, from the beauty before me, and for the sake of modesty.

She began open draws, and pulling out various frilly feminine garments. I made may way back to the sitting room. As I have stated before, I am many thing –now including a cat-, but I am still a gentleman.

I curled up, and tried not to listen to the sounds coming from the next room. This was more difficult than you might imagine as, a) I have remarkable good hearing, and b) Christine talked to her self, or rather, questions her self. There was a constant monologue of; "Where did I put my stays… I had you a second ago!...If I where my shoes I'd be…" and the like, accompanied by the sound of draws opening, fabric falling, and what I assume was her hoping on one foot, having found the concealed shoes.

I knew why she was in such a hurry. The new season was to begin soon, in a week infect, with six new productions, and ever moment was precise rehearsal time. Christine would be taking one three roles; the title role in Handel's Rodelinda, Zerlina in Mozart's Don Giovanni, and Desdemona in Verdi's new opera –his first in almost a decade after 'retiring'-, Otello*.

I knock at the door came from down stairs, followed by female voices. Moments latter, the door burst open, and the Giry girl bounced in. And she did bounce. Meg moved as if she only a passing acquaintance with gravity. She would one day be a great ballerina, if only should could learn to control her near boundless energy!

She grabbed Christine, and began whirling her round, gabling something nonsensical about some magician who styled himself 'the Emperor'.

Suddenly she stopped, turned pale, hands flying to her heart as she shrieked,

"WHAT'S THAT!" pointing at your truly. I seem to have that effect on women.

"He's Rozen," Said Christine, picking me up. "He's a cat."

"What happened to _it's_ face? Does it have mange or something?"

"It's not that bad."

Meg made a face, stating that as far as she was concerned, it was 'that bad', and worse. I had to agree with her on that score, though I objected to the mange comment.

Christine tickled my eyes, and I suppressed an urge to pur.

"I found him in the rose bush out side. He was hurt, so I took him inside."

"Right." Meg was still looking at me with disgust. "You can't keep _it_, though, isn't Roaul allergic to cat's?"

Oh was he? That was useful information to have.

Christine just shrugged at Meg's question.

"Shall we go? We can get something to eat when we're there."

Before leavening, Christine made sure to open the window for me to get in and out by.

I sat on the sill, and watched the two walk away to wards the opera. When they were out of sight, I stretched my injured leg. It seemed much better now. I slide down the drain pipe, and set off to the opera house.

Even under my present affliction, I couldn't leave the running of my opera to those two fools, could I?

*Actually, it was first performed in Milan in 1887, but give me artistic license.


	6. Chapter 6

6.

**A/N; Thank you to everyone who's review! And sorry for taking so long with this, I've spent the last while writing essays, not fanfics, sorry. Reviews, and constructive criticsm is still, and always will be welcome. Hope you enjoy! **

My journey to the opera house was pleasingly uneventful. No one tride to kick me, no dogs decided that I'd make a nice chew toy, infect, no one paid me any notice. It was pleasant to take a morning walk in the sunlight, I'd never been able to do it before.

On reaching the Opera House, I easily slipped in by a back door. Easy. Now all I had to do was make sure that nothing had gone too terribly wrong in my absence, then get down to my lair, and find a way to return to my former shape.

The opera house was already bustling. So much to do, so little time! It was the same before every new season. Somewhere, the set designer would be engaged in his annual battle with the wardrobe mistress. A pity I'd have to miss it this time, they were always so amusing to watch.

Keeping to the shadows, I made my way to the managers office. Normally, when I chose to spy on those two fools, I did so from behind the eyes portrait of Mozart that hung in the office. It was a little melodramatic of me, perhaps, but I just couldn't help it.

Unforchantly, as a cat, I doubted I could get my self up that high long enough for a good look. I'd have to use the door, how boring!

But it was locked. Normally, this would not be a problem, -I can pick locks in my sleep- but normally, I have fingers.

I looked down at my paws. Claws? I extended them looking at their gleaming sharpness. Worth a try.

I pushed by self up onto my hind legs, trying to reach the lock. It was happening. I just wasn't quite tall enough. The fact that I kept loosing my balance didn't help either.

Right, plan B. I wont go into details, leave it to say it involved a chimney, and me emerging in the managers office covered in soot, and in a foul mood.

I coughed and spluttered in the fire place before having a good shake, trying to dislodge the soot. At least my fur was black already. Still, I'd need a bath. That was something I was not looking forward to.

My eyes roamed about the room. It was utterly empty. No sign of a coat or hat on the stand, the letters on the desk were on opened. They hadn't even come in yet! The clock showed it to be past half ten. They were late. And today of all days! They should have been here to great the new members of the chorus and orchestra! I tisked mentally. That was just bad manners.

Well, time to put my new found letter writing skills into practice.

I leapt up onto the chair at Firmin's desk. I needed pen, paper, and ink. And they were in the locked draw of the desk. Why did everything have to be so difficult? Why couldn't this me a more cat friendly envirment?

I tried the claws again. This time I had more success. The lock clicked. With a bit of difficulty, I hooked a paw through the handle, and pulled the draw open, and got out my tooled.

Firmin had one of those new fangled pens with the ink inside them*, so that was a blessing.

I began to write,

_My Dear Managers,_

_I am bitterly disappointed to see that you could not be here this morning. I do hope you have not been taken ill. Today is the first day of preparation for the new season, and it is unthinkable that the mangers would not be here to set an example, and to welcome the new members of our troupe._

_Do not let if happen again, I need not remind you of the consequences of disobeying my orders._

_Your obedient servant,_

_O.G_

I read over the note. It was just about legible. It would do.

I closed the draw with my head, and hoped off the chair. It was slightly sooty, but there was nothing I could do about that.

Now, I needed to get down to the dungeon of black despair, or , as I call it, home sweet home.

Just then I heard a click at the door, and darted behind the curtain as the managers walked in. This was what I had been reduced to, hiding behind curtain!

Andre had evidently just told a joke, as they were both laughing –it couldn't have been Firmin, as he always spoilt the punch line.

"It's going to be a wonderful day! I can feel it. No one's come asking for there budget to be extended, every one's hard at work, and best of all, no notes!"

Firmin had sat down at his desk.

"You spoke too soon." He said, holding up m letter.

Andre snake down. "Oh no. Has he changed his mind about his salary this month? I knew it was too good to be true."

Firmin handed the note across the desk. "No, but he's noticed we were here at nine."

"Is it just me, or has his hand writing got worse?"

"It has, and not only that," Firmin had opened his draw by now, "The cheeky bugger's been using my pen!"

I'd forgotten to put the lib back, damn.

"He acts like he owns the place!"

"I think he believes he does."

"Well, we better follow his orders, and go meet and greet."

Sighing, they felt, but left the door ajar! At least that meant I wouldn't have to go through the chimney again!

I might just check in on how the rehearsals for Rodalina were shaping up before heading down. Not that I was spying on Christine, no, I just wanted to see that things were going as the should be. And it just happened that she was in that perticule opera, and was rehurcing now. I would have still looked in even if she wasn't there. It had nothing to do with wanting to be close to Christine, and hear her sing. Nothing. Nothing at all.

I'm such a lier.

*Fountain pens became popular about 1875.


	7. Chapter 7

The Parisian Opera House was honey combed with hidden passages, and blocks of alcoves. Somewhere added my yours truly – I was, unofficially, involved in the design. I've still got the original blue prints some where in my lair. Others seem to have evolved naturally as rooms where knocked, added and altered.

This meant, that via the loose grating of a heating vent, a small feline, with a disfigured face and devious mind, could enter, and have full access to any part of the building. I was a little nervous of meeting some of the rats again. Rat's where meant to be cleaver, weren't they? How long before they worked out that one cat -no matter how clever and musically gifted- wasn't a match for several dozen rats? I'd just have to hope they were either VERY stupid, or scared.

With some difficultly, I found my way to the right room. There were high rafters criss-crossing the ceiling. I remembered that once, this room had been used by the scene painters, and hooks hung from these rafters so that the flies could be hung up to dry, like enormous sheets stained with dreams. Now they had moved somewhere with a bit more ventilation. There had been a near accident with one of the junior members, who had been adding the finishing touches, and nearly succumbed to the fumes. I'd written a rather stiff note about it.

My angel, was below, with the tenor Pangi –now total recovered, I only drugged him, a good tenor's hard to find- who would be playing not-as-bad-as-he-first-seems Grimoald, and the jolly bass Giuseppe, playing the evil Garibaldo.*

"Now Christine, in this scene," and the director Mr Hagan "You're telling this man" pointing at Pangi, "Telling him, the only way you'll marry him, is if he kills your son, right here, in font of you."

I did not like that man. He talked to every one like they were idiots –with was true for only about half of them- and as if he was the only one to understand the plot. And in opera, if you understand ALL of the plots –even I will admit, some are ridiculous!- there is something wrong with you.

"Do you understand why your doing this?"

"Yes." Christine voice was quite, with an undertone of frustration.

"Are you sure? It's because…"

Christine rolled her eyes and interrupted.

"Sir, we have been through this before, and I do understand the 'motivation' for her actions…"

"Your actions, remember that you must be Rodelinda."

I saw the words written in her expression, _How can I 'be' her, if ever five minuets you keep stopping to explain 'why' I'm being?_

There was a cough from the corner. Seated in the corner was Philip Handle –no relation to the composer, I'd checked. He was a first class pianist, and wonderful at working with singers. He and Hagan were known by most members of the opera to be lovers, and it was Hagan would had got him his job at the opera.

"Perhaps, Ms Daae could show you her understand, by singing the airs?" He was also one of the few people how could get Hagan to stop doing his job, and let the singers do theirs.

Christine gave a grateful smile.

Piangi and Giuseppe moved into their places, as Handel started to play.

And Christine sang.

I closed my eyes in pleasure as her voiced washed over me, then opened them again, remembering I was meant to be 'Watching'.

She moved like a queen. I had helped her voice, but even I could not have taught her to act like that. She captured Rodelinda in her every movement. The resigned sadness, the nobility, the longing, and the intellect! Hagan, could not 'explain' that to her, it was something instinctive.

Piangi and Giuseppe weren't too bad either.

Hagan clapped his hands. "Right, not too bad, not too bad at all. We're blocking Act Three up there later today. Our Bertarido should be here any minute, to do the farewell duet with Ms. Daae." He look at a letter in his hand "Piangi, the Costume Department want to see you as soon as they can. Something about hoise and a corset?"

Piangi blushed. There had been an incident last year were Piangi's costume had split on stage. It was not something anyone wanted to happen again.

Giuseppe slapped a hand on Piangi's soft shoulder, in a half comforting, half mocking way, and the two headed off.

Hagan when to talk to Handle. I noted that as he stood by him, he placed a hand on his shoulder, and Handel lent back into him slightly. I felt a panged of jealousy that they had something I couldn't.

Christine was busy reading her music.

I sighed, and prepared to leave.

Things seemed to be going well.

As I looked up, I saw a pair of glittering eyes.

A Rat. I bared my fangs. It twitched it's noise at me. I stopped.

"_I like when the pretty lady sings."_

It had been the rat who spoke. It had to have been, I'm much more eloquent.

"_Oh?"_ I rejoined in the same unspoken tough.

"_The pretty lady sings well. You made her sing well."_

"_I helped."_ This seemed to be going well.

"_Tagain doesn't you, because he like's the big, loud one."_ The 'big loud one' must be Carlotta.

"_Tagain?" _I asked _"Another rat?"_

"_The one who chased you. He like's the big loud lady, because she leaves cake and chocolate around. He doesn't like you or the pretty lady. He thinks you'll get rid of the big loud one."_

"_But you, you like the pretty Lady?"_

"_Yes. She sings well. Well all like her. Except Tagain."_

Musical rats? Well, stranger things have happened. I'm one of them.

"_Tagain seems to be a man of poor taste."_ I said.

The rat nodded.

"_We won't be troubling you any more, now that we know who you are."_

Know who I am?

"_What?"_ I spluttered. Did I say anything about my being eloquent? I take it back.

"_At first we thought you were just a cat, that's why we chased with Tagain. But you're the one who makes music."_

I paused. _"Do you like my music?" _ I was asking a rat of his critical opinion. I'd reached a new low.

"_Yes. Why else do you think we kept trying to get in to hear it?"_

That's what they'd been doing? I thought they were after my cheese! But no, I had an admiring audience.

"_I'm going now, to get down to my lair. To try and change back to, you know, something that can play the piano."_

"_Good luck." _

Quite a friendly little rodent. If they were all like this, I'd have to do something about the rat catcher.

I couldn't have him killing off my fans! I just called a bunch of rats my fans.

Good God. Why did nothing normal like me?**

"_Thank you. As long as I can reach the books, I should be fine."_

"_Not with that, with the pretty lady."_ And with that, he was gone.

*For plot of Rodalinda, .org/wiki/Rodelinda_(opera), they're going though act two.

**Phan-girls, do we count as 'normal'?


	8. Chapter 8

8.

A/N: Sorry for the wait, exams, work, etc… I know, excuses excuses…

Also, I took over this fic when it's original author was unable to continue it, given my record with (not) up-dating, if anyone would like to take the story on from this, or any other point, please PM me. I'm not giving up on it, but as I said –and as you've seen- I tend to be VERY slow, and it might be fun to see two or more alternative versions of the story on the site.

I made my way down through the labyrinth of darkness that was the underworld of the Opera house.

It took far longer than I had been expecting. I lost count of the number of times I walked up to a secret door, only to find I either couldn't reach the secret level, or, if I could, I wasn't heavy enough to activate it.

I untimely had to resort to squeezing through the wholes made by the rats. My 'fans', as I had just learnt. Defiantly a strange breed.

Needless to say, I was in a foul tempter when I at last reached by lair. I was also dripping wet. It is a lie that cats always land on there feet, even more so if there is a rotten plank of wood and a subterranean lake involved.

I shook some of the water from my coat, wishing I could open a cupboard and get a towel.

I tried to focus on the positive; I was home, I was still alive, I wasn't a fop… but there were all out weighed by the fact that the love of my life had rejected me in favor of an inbred, immature, prince-charming-want-to-be with a pony-tale. Oh, and that I was now a cat! The power of positive thinking can go jump in the lake.

I kept a catalogue of the virus positions I had learned to concoct in my study. If only I'd labeled them once I made them, I wouldn't have found myself in this mess.

Miraculously, I had left the door to the study ajar. Point One for Erik! Fate's cruel and twisted since of humor 1,364, not that I'm keeping score.

With ease I leaped upon the bookcase. Getting the book out was more problematic. I had to bat at it with my paws, like a kitten with a feather, till it at last fell to the floor. I felt a pang of guilt for treating a book in such a manner, but needs must.

I followed the book, and began flicking franticly through the pages.

'_Cats, cats, cats…feline…'_

I wished I'd written these in some kind of odder –like alphabetically-, rather than just as I came across them. And how many different ways did I need to know to make clouds of smoke appear? I must have written down at least twelve!

At last something related to my present predicament caught my eye. I must have been bored while writing because I seemed to have drawn a picture of a cat. I couldn't quite make out what I'd scrawled above it. *

I flicked on. There were a few more picture of cats in bizarre posses, next to them captions I must have thought were hilarious at the time. Had I been drunk when doing this? I'd written most of this when in Persia- it must had been sunstroke.

Finally, I found what I was looking for.

It was not good news.

"No antidote".

Great. Fate's cruel and twisted since of humor, 1365.

I read on anyway. A glimmer of hope.

"….affects may wear off… time dependant of emotional state, and mind set…"

And what was that meant to mean? If I felt catty I'd stay a cat? I definitely must have had sunstroke.

Well, I now I knew that this couldn't be forever. And until it did wear off, I had a welcome place as Christine's pet.

Christine! She'd be returning home! What time was it?

I looked at the clock on my desk, but of course, I hadn't been here to keep it wound, and the hands now lay still.

I made wide guesses as to the time. Four? Five? I had maybe an hour. I still had to get back to the surface, then back to her room. Could I make it back before her?

I set off.

It shames me to say it, but I managed to get lost. I had meant to head to the stables, but somehow ended up behind the mirror in Christine's dressing room. Force of habit I guess.

I could see her through the glass. She just pinning her hat in place. I studied the reflection of her face in the dressing table mirror. She looked tired, but happy. She was humming under her breath.

My revelry was interrupted by a knock on the door which then opened, admitting a very unwelcome figure.

"Little Lottie!"

I all but hissed. I hated that nickname of Christine's. It made her sound like silly little girl, and there was only one person who called her by it.

"Roual!"

The source of all my woes. Well, all my most resent woes. I doubt that he was involved in my disfiguration –he wasn't even bore at the time- but from the moment he set foot in MY Opera house, he had caused me nothing but grief. Him, with his good looks, easy manner, boyish charm, good family and education, social position, bright future… who did he think he was any way?

" At last I get to see you! That gorgon of a land-lady of yours keeps turning me away!" He stepped forward, taking her hands, spinning them round the room till they were standing before the mirror. He was about to say more, but stopped, puzzled, and rubber his noise.

"Is something wrong?"

"No, my noise just tickles."

"Oh, they say that means you're about to have a fight!"

"Not with you I hope, my little Lottie." He grinned

Does that count as charm these days? He was smiling at her in that soppy, lost puppy way. I ground my teeth, not a happy kitty.

He tried to take her hand, but stopped, looked confused, and sneezed! He sneezed again, and then again. Then I recalled Meg's comment from earlier- he was allergic to cat! Oh happy day! I could keep him away from Christine, just by making sure I was near her! Joy to the World!

"Are you alight Raoul?"

"Fine, just getting a cold, I think…"

"Well then you should get into bed," I bristled at that, I did not like my angel saying anything about 'bed' to this fop. "With a hot cup of tea, and not come out till your well."

As she said this, she managed somehow to rap a scarf around his neck, turn him around, and push him out the door, being wonderfully charming all the while. It was a talent.

_So_, I mused to myself,_ she doesn't want him around her, at least, not at the moment…_

Christine reached for her hat, then sat down slowly at the mirror, looking sadly at her reflection. It was not just sadness, there was something else there, but I could not name it. I was suddenly reminded of 'The Lady of Sherlott", that was how I imagined her looking.

I wanted to reach out, comfort her in some way.

Her head had dropped into her hands, and I did the only thing I could think of to comfort her, I sang…

"Christine…" Like a whisper.

"Christine…. " An echo.

"Christine." A prayer.

Her reaction was strange, at first she seemed to relax, soothed, then stiffen, suddenly tense, and look about the room. I could see her face clearly. No, she wasn't frightened- it was something else.

She put her hat on her head, and grabbed her coat, and left the room.

I ran like the blazes to beat her home. I was fairly sure that she would be stopped by people wanting to talk and asking for autographs on her way, but I had to avoid carts, dogs and landladies, AND climb a drain pipe. I made it back onto her bed just before she opened the door. I was out of breath, but tried to hide it.

"Hello Rossin! Did you have an interesting day while I was gone?"

_You have no idea…_

*LOL cats any one?


End file.
